


Restraint

by DeVereWinterton



Series: Phrack Fucking Fridays (PFF) [2]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Jealousy, London, Phrack Fucking Friday, Restraint, Smutty Shakespeare, patience is a virtue, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 16:17:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16895892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeVereWinterton/pseuds/DeVereWinterton
Summary: Phryne Fisher is about to teach Jack Robinson that what Phryne Fisher wants, Phryne Fisher gets. Fortunately, she wants Jack.





	Restraint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scruggzi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/gifts).



> This was an exercise in self-restraint, as I tried to keep this under 1000 words. Again. And failed. Again. But I was so close! In my defense; Phrack failed at restraining themselves as well. 
> 
> I did not plan to post two fics in two days, but eh *shrugs* it happened. A fic a day keeps real life at bay? Away? Tackle-hugging Geenee27 for the beta!

 

As Phryne Fisher quickly shoved Jack Robinson into an upstairs bathroom, she looked around to make sure they hadn’t been seen, before she slipped inside as well. It took her all of two seconds to kick the door shut behind her, press her back against it, lock the door with one hand and pull a stunned Jack closer by his lapel with the other.

The noises coming from Emily Fitzgerald's soirée were muffled up here, but Phryne knew they could not risk staying away for too long. Grabbing both lapels, she tugged on his suit jacket. She felt the warmth of his body right before she tasted the heat of his mouth. His protests died a swift death as she pressed her red-slicked lips to his, kissing him hard and fast, tongue pushing impatiently into his mouth. Her hands were already moving, sneaking under his jacket and pulling him even closer.

“Phryne,” he panted, a harsh whisper as he tore his stained lips away. “Damn it, woman. You promised!”

“That was before I saw you in this tuxedo,” she countered, attempting to claim his lips in another searing kiss.

“You told me to wear it!” he protested feebly, his hands on her hips pulling her closer as he simultaneously pushed her into the door.

“Yes, and now I'm _telling you_ to take it off,” she almost growled at him, attacking the buttons on his waistcoat as though they’d wronged her somehow.

“You’ll ruin it,” he half-whispered, half-laughed as she whined in frustration when the second button would not give.

“You’re mine to ruin, Jack Robinson. Remember that,” she smirked, then leaned in to suck at the juncture of his neck. She was going to leave a mark. She did not care in the least.

“Phryne!” A soft hiss escaped his throat. “People will talk.”

“Let them.” Despite Jack’s half-hearted protests, she could feel his aroused interest as it lay, hot and heavy against her thigh, the light material of her dress offering little resistance. She squirmed against him, moving so she could rub her sodden core against his length.

He groaned and she bit his earlobe, wordlessly reminding him to keep quiet.

They already looked a right rumpled mess, but Phryne was overcome by the sudden need to claim this man as her own. Over and over again. Her hand snaked down between their panting bodies to cover his cloth-covered cock. She started a quick rhythm, intending to bring him to full hardness as quickly as possible. Jack’s desperate, bitten-off groan made her cunt throb.

“Gods, Jack. You feel so good in my hand.” Phryne had not intended to seduce Jack in their hostess’ bathroom. She knew her dress clung faithfully to her curves and left very little to the imagination (and Jack had a wonderfully naughty imagination, as she’d recently discovered). However, she realised she had overlooked the effect Jack, in a well-cut tuxedo, would have on _her_. Just looking at him from across the room had made her soaking wet. “You are so handsome… effortlessly commandeering…” she whispered in his ear.

“I wasn’t trying to…” he trailed off apologetically, moaning softly.

She snapped her clear cerulean eyes up to look at him as she continued to stroke him. “Every woman in that room was staring at you.”

“They were?” The genuine surprise was evident in both his voice and eyes.

“Mathilda Lyttelton was practically drooling all over your jacket,” she huffed, brow furrowed.

“Jealous?” he asked, a smug smile firmly in place.

“Shut up,” she snarled, then kissed him with a ferocity that surprised even herself. She fumbled with his trouser fastenings, pushed his smalls out of the way and freed his cock from its constraining confines. She gave him a single, firm stroke and Jack whimpered.

“Phryne, please…” His hands on her arse tightened.

She wrapped a long leg around his hip. Jack rushed a hand up her thigh and rucked her dress up to her waist, bracing her back against the door. She was dripping down her thighs for him and when he nudged his blunt, broad cockhead against her slippery folds, they moaned in unison.

“Oh love, you’re so wet,” he sighed in surprise, in admiration, his voice reduced to a husky growl as he rubbed against her slit. He did not appear to be the least bit surprised that she had foregone underwear. Again.

She grabbed his cock, and Jack held his breath as Phryne shifted to guide him into her body. He pushed inside in one smooth stroke, burying himself to the hilt. He dropped his head in the crook of her neck as her heat enveloped his length, her softness welcoming his hardness. Her moan was deep and positively filthy, and he bit her shoulder in fierce reprimand.

There was no time for finesse, for refined caresses and drawn-out lovemaking. Her body undulated against him. One hand was gripping her thigh, sure to leave bruises, his other was on the door behind her, providing leverage for his thrusting hips. She clutched at his shoulders and he immediately started pushing into her in firm, deep strokes.

Phryne bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough to draw blood, to stop herself from crying out. Jack’s pace was harsh, relentless, and so good she wanted to scream. He was looking down to where their bodies were joined, no doubt enjoying the sight of his cock, slick with their mingled juices, sliding in and out of her. She wanted to see it, and promised herself she would. Later. His jaw was clenched and there were beads of sweat on his forehead, her lipstick smeared across his mouth.

He looked good enough to eat.

She kissed him, clumsily and sloppily.

“My Jack,” she panted, forehead resting against his.

“Yours,” he ground out, his voice rough. He thrust again, harder this time, deeper. The hand on the door moved between them to rub her sensitive pearl and she gasped.

“Oh, _fuck_ Jack, just like that,” she groaned, almost delirious at this point. Her head fell back against the door with a ‘thump’, eyes squeezed shut as her walls clamped down on his rigid length.

“Come, Phryne. _Now_ ,” he growled on a particularly hard thrust as he rammed his cock inside her wet heat, circling her clit and pinching it between his index finger and thumb. Pressing his lips against hers, he swallowed her wild cries as she came. He thrust into her once more before he spilled himself inside her in long, hot pulses, hips snapped taut, his breath rushing out of him.

When Jack slipped from her body, he cleaned them up with his handkerchief, and lowered Phryne’s leg when he felt certain she was able to support her own weight again. Her silk dress fell back down and was creased beyond repair. She looked thoroughly fucked, and Jack felt strangely proud.

“Jack,” Phryne panted. She was still leaning against the door, taking him in. “That was…”

“Impetuous?” he supplied with a small smile, tucking himself back in and fastening his trousers and waistcoat, not sounding at all remorseful.

“I was going to say ‘delicious’,” she purred, then grabbed a guest towel, wet it and removed the traces of her lipstick from his face.

“It’s what I say to myself every time I see you, Miss Fisher,” he confessed almost shyly.

Her heart soared as she pressed herself against him.  

“You’re a hedonist, Jack Robinson,” she breathed against his lips, barely suppressing the urge to smudge her remaining lipstick all over again.

“ _‘My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh,'”_ he rumbled, deep and low in his throat.

“ _'_ _Madding my eagerness with his restraint,_ ’” she replied, straightening his bowtie.

He smirked at her adaptation of a classic. “I have very little restraint when I'm around you, Phryne Fisher,” he teased, cupping her buttocks in his large palms.

“That’s good to know, darling,” she sassed, biting her lower lip before turning away and unlocking the bathroom door. Peeking out, she signalled for him to wait until she’d left so as not to arouse suspicion.

Jack smiled to himself, shaking his head.

It wasn’t a lie. His cherished self-control had been almost nonexistent ever since he’d arrived in London two weeks ago, to Phryne’s (and his own) delight.

His renowned patience was also wearing rather thin.

Walking out of the bathroom a minute later, he went in search of her immediately.

He couldn't wait to get her home.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  _‘My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh.’_  
>  As You Like It. Act 3. Scene 3. Touchstone speaking.
> 
>  _‘Madding my eagerness with her restraint.’_  
>  All’s Well That Ends Well. Act 1. Scene 3. Clown speaking.


End file.
